


When I look at you (I see the future)

by HikariNekoo



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Adult Losers Club (IT), Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Blood and Injury, Depression, Endgame Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Epic Friendship, Everyone is Alive Except Georgie Denbrough, Explicit Language, F/M, Fix-It, Gay Richie Tozier, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Multi, Not Beta Read, Panic Attacks, Pennywise (IT) is His Own Warning, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rating May Change, Richie Tozier & Stanley Uris Are Best Friends, Richie Tozier Deserves Better, Richie Tozier Flirts, Richie Tozier Has Issues, Richie Tozier Needs a Hug, Richie Tozier is a Mess, Richie Tozier-centric, Sad Richie Tozier, Stanley Uris Doesn't Take a Bath, Stanley Uris is a Good Friend, The Losers Club (IT) Love Each Other, The Turtle (IT) CAN Help Us, Time Travel, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2019-11-23
Packaged: 2020-12-27 05:07:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21113150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HikariNekoo/pseuds/HikariNekoo
Summary: Richie comes back to LA miserable and alone. He doesn't cope with everything that happened in Derry. But the dream encounter with Turtle-God may give him a chance to change some things and save his fallen friends.





	1. Chapter 1

_(Richie looks in the eyes of omnipresent gigantic turtle and knows he's dreaming. It's the first time since defeating IT he's not having a nightmare. _

_"You can fix things, Richie," it, he says to him with gentle voice. "Save your friends and yourself." _

_Richie shakes his head, because _no_ it doesn't work like that.)_

-

They fought IT while reliving the summer of '89 and uncovering the whole mass of repressed trauma.

The Losers Club defeated IT in the end (for good this time, or so they hoped).

Coming to the hotel after emotional swim in the quarry the remaining Losers spend the night talking and recalling the long time gone summer (mostly the good stuff, because mentioning the bad could ended in tears and Richie's fragile state of mind couldn't really afford that).

At the morning they packed, said tearful good bay's and with promise to remember each other this time and staying in contact everyone went hastily in their own merry ways (or in case of Ben and Bev the same way).

That's how Richie ended in his empty apartment in LA binge drinking two months later.

He didn't cope well.

Okay, he didn't cope at all.

Since remembering Derry, coming back to his haunted hometown, death of Stan, death of Eddie and driving back to LA as if nothing fucking changed he was a right mess. Nightmares tormented him every night (so real, so real he could almost feel the phantom touch of fucking clown on his body even after he woke up), until he finally resigned from trying to sleep at all.

Nowadays the only rest he got was a few hours long naps, when his body crashed from exhaustion, between one beer and the other. The other Losers as promised kept in contact. Calling and messaging every couple of days, updating on their lives.

"Me and Audra w-went on the c-couple counseling. I-it's helping, I think," said Bill one day, the shining in his tired eyes finally restored.

"I was at the Everglades National Park the other day, and man, the alligators were absolutely fantastic," said Mike at some point at group call on Monday.

"We got engaged," said proudly Bev showing simple ring on her finger. Ben stood just behind her smiling, his handsome face flushed and happy.

They all seemed so adjusted.

Ben and Bev moved together, for now cruising on Ben's ship.

Bill reunited with his wife, back on his feet after a few session in therapy, started writing a script for his new book, promising better ending then ever before.

Mike finally free from Derry just traveled around the America, for now in the area of Florida, but he lately mentioned something about going to see Great Canyon soon. He enjoyed his life for once.

And Richie drank. Alone and a lot.

-

_("You just have to believe," says Maturin. "You have to have faith, Richie." _

_Point is Richie doesn't believe in old gods, karma, fate or the mystical turtle deity before him. He doesn't deny their existence. He just doesn't believe in them.) _

-

Five days after coming back to LA Richie's manager barged in his apartment with clear intent to trash the Trashmouth and to forcibly fix Richie's attitude towards his job.

But one look at his colleague was enough to kill the fighting spirit in Steve.

It should be concerning to Richie, because Steve worked with him from almost the beginning of his career with was a shitton of years now.

Steve saw Richie in a lot of discriminating situations, during his ups and his downs. Steve never really hesitated to break in a almost hours long lectures about being responsible and respectable human being and proper behavior towards his work, no matter how drunk out of his ass Richie was or if he has one of his depression episode that were pretty often occurrence in Richie's thirties.

Yeah, Richie had then what some people may call middle age crisis, that somehow led to Richie having his stomach pumped on ER. After that they hooked him on some anxiety and antidepressant meds (that he constantly forgotten to take) after his obligatory two week vacation in rehab centre, _oh good ol' times_.

During that days Steve used any possible visitation right to remind Richie that world didn't exactly turn around him. So yeah, Steve was mean son of a bitch, but he was good at his job.

"Jesus, what the hell happened to you?" asked Steve and there was real concern in his voice. "Richie?"

"I'm peachy, man," said Richie after a while, not even looking at him.

"Yeah, sure. That's why you look like fucking corpse and stink like one too."

This time Steve comment didn't get any answer. He wanted to tell Richie some strong words that'd shake Richie out of that weird state, but... Richie's eyes were dead. Like they belonged to a corpse not a living being, no emotions, _nothing_.

It made Steve fucking shiver and he could easily deduce that no matter what he would said it just wouldn't help Richie.

"You know, if there's something I can help, I'm here, Richie."

Richie send him grimace, that maybe was meant to be smile, Steve wasn't sure.

In the end Steve told Richie to take as much time as he needs to sort out his shit and fifteen minutes after he left Richie got a message with contact information to some therapist and another one with an address to nearest rehab centre.

Barely glancing at it he deleted both of messages and shut his phone off for the rest of the night.

-

_ (Sometimes when he closes his eyes he sees bloodied smile of Pennywise the Dancing Clown. His yellow eyes piercing and amused when everything in Richie's body shake along to booming - _

"You'll float too, Richie."

_ And yeah, Richie's not a believer. Never was, never will be. But that promise is what Richie believes in.) _

-

He started to see things. Shadows just in corners of his eyes. He wasn't afraid. Just tired.

Week after Derry Richie ran out of the alcohol and food (not that he could digest any more then few bites per meal before feeling like puking).

He showered (and tried to ignore the faint whisper coming from the drain, because_ IT was dead_. They killed that motherfucking clown) and left his apartment for the first time since coming back.

Light (the real sun, _not deadlights_, Richie did get out of the sewers, unlike Eddie) hit his eyes and it _burned_.

It took a while to get used to it after spending week in the darkness of his home.

Richie thought he wasn't really in hurry to be back in his apartment so instead of his primary plan to go shopping he decided to take a break.

Richie walked aimlessly, slowly dragging his feet on dirty roadside. He had no idea where he was going. Just walking for the sake of walking, so these pesky thoughts could finally be left behind.

But even when his legs hurt and the sweat dripped down his face, still the only thing on his mind was Derry, IT and The Losers Club (death and darkness and pain, no relief).

When he finally stopped, his body shivering uncontrollably even though it wasn't cold, he found himself in unfamiliar suburbs.

Bright family homes blurred with warm afternoon sun.

Richie sighed loudly, dragging his clammy hand through his hair. His other hand reached to his pocket to fish out his phone to check his localisation and maybe to call for taxi. But before he could do this he saw red flashing in he corner of his eye.

Suddenly all air disappeared from his lungs, leaving him struggling to keep consciousness.

Red balloons flown at the backyard of one of alike homes.

Richie took one shaky step back, not even managing another one until his legs stopped working and his body met painfully with the pavement . He clawed at the ground, and tried to crawl away.

_"I'm going to die. IT's back,"_ the panicky voice in his head screamed at him, leaving ringing noise behind and Richie could feel the bile rising in his throat.

He haved up, the gurgling sound coming out of his mouth. His heart beaten furiously in his chest painfully pounding against his ribs. There was fire burning strong in his lungs, spreading quickly up his esophagus and throat. Richie closed his eyes, wishing for something, anything to help him.

As if gods had him in favor suddenly there's loud honking noise that startled Richie bad enough that he inhaled violently.

When he finally managed to ease into shaky, erratic breathing (that still was better then previous apnea), his head was swimming, vision blurry and more sounds assaulted his ears. The birds singing, cars driving and loud happy birthday song come to him.

He rubbed his eyes, blinking the tears out and tried to regain control of his too fast beating heart and rapid breathing.

He glanced again at red balloons and now, thinking clearer, he could also spot different colored balloons, along with another tacky birthday decorations.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he swore, trying to make himself feel better (it didn't help).

He turned his eyes on the ground, afraid of another panic attack (or maybe send by Pennywise vision, who the fuck knew. Richie for sure didn't).

-

_ (Richie thinks if he'll really get a chance to fix everything he could throw away all his bias in the blink of an eye. He would become a devoted follower of The Great Turtle and faithfully serve him until his dying days if only, he can change things. Hell, he would welcome death here and now if it mean Eddie could live. _

_If only.) _

-

Richie dwelled in self-pity, depression and past.

He sat, drinking hours and hours that turned into days and weeks.

He felt like he was dying and found out that he didn't even care.

He also noticed that it's easy to blame his state on other people.

Bill was after all supposed to be the Loser's leader. Their knight in shining armor who protects them and slay monsters (and yeah the monster's gone, but the only thing that's left is rumble of their past and some seats in their round table was going to be empty forever).

Stan, that coward, left them to deal with this shit. He just straight up ignored their promise (that bloody, fucking promise that Stan agreed on and sealed the deal with his own blood).

He put himself out of equation, dying all alone in bathtub, preferring that then meeting with Losers Club again and Richie feels bitter and angry (Stan was his best friend, his comrade and he didn't get a chance to say goodbye and to remember the good moments with Stan by his side). How were they (how was Richie) supposed to deal with that? There couldn't be all for one and one for all if there weren't all musketeers present, _right_?

Bev, once strong and badass, so contrastingly different now, older, timid in a sad, sad way and a right mess. Crying all the time as if she was the only one remembering the shit they went through. More concerned about choosing between Bill and Ben, ah what a dilemma, then fighting for their lives with fucking Pennywise. Richie was the one who lost the love of his life (and who's he kidding, Eddie was never his and, now dead, never will be).

Happy endings were meant to be an outcome for all of them, kiss of their true love was supposed to cure all the aching of broken bones and hearts, so why Richie was all alone in his cold apartment? Where was his happy ending? Stan's? Eddie's?

(Beverly's tears slips on the perfectly shaped edges of her face, slowly falling on the ground and threatening to flood them all. Drowning in salty sea of sorrow and memories Richie thinks of Stan's wet eyes when he meets with him behind synagogue after his bar mitzvah, remembers Stan's stubbornness in not allowing himself outwardly cry -

"I'm not going to be who they want me to be." Richie's not sure if Stan regretted or was proud of that, can't remember

\- and how he'll never again see him sad or happy or in any other way. _He'll never know_).

Good, righteous Mike put them all in danger, hiding the details of ritual they had to perform. Like how even Mike thought that this could be good idea, when fucking apache shamans with more knowledge about what's they're dealing with failed. Losers after all were just losers. Nothing special, nothing that make-believe could fix (Eddie believed he won seconds before IT impaled him. His belief didn't saved him).

They were just humans with all the ugly, imperfect parts and emotional issues in size of fucking mountain. No amount of fairy dust and trust could make them fly. Losers were destined to fall, one after the other, until all that's left is hurt and pieces that won't fit in any place (except in Derry, mother of all fuck-ups, where no one really wanted to be, but where else should they go?).

Ben was a good fellow. Sweet, lacking the sharp edges that one could cut their fingers on (not like Richie who was built from them, always hurting others, always saying something wrong, out of place, always bleeding). Older Ben was more confident, but his main concern laid with Beverly (always did). She was the priority, the first he would protect and fight for.

Ben was selfish like that. Fighting in the name of love rather than anything else, and Richie knows, he knows that Ben would sacrifice them all for Bev. (It's like Snow White who left her loyal dwarven friends and went away with her prince by her side, the bitter taste of poison still lingering on her tongue). Ben was also the person who was responsible for Richie currently drinking himself to death and yeah Richie's a little bitch, but he's not going to forget it. Ben was after all the one who dragged Richie, screaming and struggling and in pain, away from Eddie. Maybe Richie's destiny was to die in that cave holding onto body of his friend.

If Richie stayed he wouldn't be here miserable. Ben refused him dignity of being by the side of his love. (And while Richie's bitter old men, he loves his friends, _he loves them_ so much it physically hurts, but he can't, he's unable to forgive that transgressions. He should have died with Eddie no matter what.)

Eddie was dead. Eddie who never really grow up after leaving Derry. Marrying a woman who could as well be a carbon copy of his mother. Never free, never independent. Forever hypochondriac, forever dead. Richie would like to accuse Eddie of his aching heart and blame him of not fighting hard enough ("You almost let Stan's head eat me. You almost let Bev drown. You almost walked away alive."), but truth is that Richie could barely even think of him without feeling of underwhelming failure choking him. So he tries not to.

Eddie died and that's it. That's the punchline, no reason to ponder more about it.

-

_("I'm not a hero." _

_Maturin looks at this child before him (and all of the humanity with their so short lifespan were children to him) and shakes his huge head. _

_"You don't have to be. Although maybe you're already one.") _

-

Derry - Richie mused one night, sipping a lukewarm beer - was more then just their fucked up hometown, neglectful, blind adults and posters of missing children.

More then just a home to people eating monster, feeding on the fear and flesh.

Derry was like the idea of everything that's wrong with the world. It's toxic and deadly place where happiness died along with children who never got a chance to become anything more. It's ugly festering hole in place where heart should be, never closing and always aching. And Richie knew that this whole amazing atmosphere couldn't be entirely blamed on their local monster because Derry is also people, scared and narrow minded, awful and so fucking human with all of that humanity faults that it almost hurt.

Derry was special like that. And no matter how much Richie would like to deny it, he belonged to Derry, that shithole was integral part of him, one he could never free himself of. He's rotten from the inside out from the moment he opened his eyes 40 years ago in Derry's maternity ward. (He can't change that. But maybe, _maybe_, he can change something else.)

Richie thinks something wrong with him, but he's fucking sure he would be so much happier if he never forgotten that damned town and everything that happened here.

He felt more stable since he remembered his childhood. He got now why he's so fucking terrified of clowns, why every missing posters make him flinch. He finally understood the history behind the scar of his palm and any other marking his body.

He remembered his first friend (Stan), his first crush (Bill, oddly enough) his first mama joke. He was a whole person for the first time in 27 years.

The fact that Richie always had a hard time forming relationships didn't help getting over Derry.

He was troubled kid and then teenager. Too loud, too hyperactive, too much overall. He lacked the filter between his mouth and brain, talking shit and throwing inappropriate jokes everywhere he could. Limbs seemingly too long on his already lanky body was hard to control. His bottle bottom glasses made his eyes unnaturally big.

The Losers were his only friends.

In his adult life he never really formed any functioning relationship. No friends, no lovers. Only some colleagues from work in person of his manager and boss. He was a loner and honestly it didn't bother him much before. Before memories came back hitting him over head with forgotten friendship and unrequited love. And Richie become miserable son of a bitch he always truly knew he was.

It sucked.

-

_("I want the second chance," says Richie to the Turtle, his hands shaking. "I want it." _

_Maturin just looks at him with those big eyes that shine like galaxies. _

_"Please, help me save them." _

_"I will.")_


	2. Chapter 2

Richie woke up lying in the shortly trimmed grass and the first thing he did was puking his guts out. Not that there was lot food leaving his body since he didn't really eat much in few days, so it's more bile then anything else.

When his nausea settled to more bearable levels he raised his head and took in his surrounding.

"Fuck."

The sight of familiar backyard of his old childhood home, triggered the wave of hazy memories.

-

_"Richard, where do you think you're going?" His father voice boomed in the narrow hallway. Richie froze, one hand on the door handle._

_Richie glanced at looming figure of his parent. Wentworth was sporting a displeased grimace on his face. Richie stiffened under the weight of his father's stare._

_ "Bill's, sir," he said._

_ Wentworth grabbed his arm in bruising hold, shaking him._

_ "You better behave yourself you little shit," he hissed. "If I'll hear that you _again_ pulled some stupid, fucking stunt, you're gonna regret you're alive, you hear me?"_

_ He dug his fingers in Richie's arm and shook him again this time with more force._

_ "Of course, sir," replied Richie, with all his might biting his lip, so no accented bullshit slip out._

_ "Good."_

_ His father let go of his arm and ruffled his hair in a mockery of affection._

_ Richie send him dishonest smile and ran out of the door._

-

_Maggie Tozier sat on the couch clutching the bottle of the cheap wine in her skinny arms. Her blank stare was directed at TV that wasn't even on._

_ Richie looked at her over the kitchen door's frame. The gnawing hunger made him feel nauseated._

_ "Mom? There's nothing to eat," he said softly._

_ He rummaged the fridge and every cupboard earlier in hopes to find any food, but except for some bag of flour and half of mushy tomato, Toziers' home was empty of anything edible._

_ "Mom," he repeated, when his mother failed to answer._

_ "Go away, Richard. Make yourself a sandwich or something," she said, slurring each word._

_ She didn't even looked at him._

_ "It's Richie. And there's literally nothing to make a sandwich."_

_ Maggie suddenly let out a long sob, curling in herself._

_ "Why can't be like other children? Why do you have to be so damn difficult?"_

_ Richie looked helplessly as his mother started crying, knowing that she wasn't now in state to do anything with lack of food._

_He sighed and grabbed the blanket of the dirty floor, throwing it around shaking woman._

_ "I'm going to Stan," he said and quickly got out of home._

-

Richie blinked, slowly coming back to reality. He giggled.

"Home sweet home."

Trying to get up he slipped on the moist grass and soggy earth, and he fell back on the ground, splashing mud all over himself.

It took him some time to finally get up form the lawn. His back was killing him and he had a splitting headache.

Richie was disoriented. He wasn't really sure how the fuck he ended in Derry, more so in close proximity of his old home.

He supposed that new owners wouldn't be to happy to find him there looking haggard and dirty, so he tried to leave the property as quick as he could, but he honestly wasn't in good shape physically, spiritually and anything in between so it took him considerably longer than he would like.

Each step was a challenge, considering his aching body, but the feeling of uneasiness caused by being in Derry kept him upright.

He wasn't sure what to do with himself especially when he discovered lack of his phone or keys. The only belongings on his person was a wallet with his documents and few ten dollars bills.

He decided to go in town, maybe buy some clothes and then figure out the rest of the plan.

-

The newspaper on the display of the window's shop in cursive letters said "_Thursday, September 1, 2016_".

Richie wouldn't even pay attention to it if not for the big picture of clowny face and article about approaching carnival.

And Richie's brain was a fucking mess he won't deny it. But he clearly remembered that Derry's festival wasn't organized in fucking February, because who'd like to freeze their balls in sake of waiting for an overpriced ride on carousel.

Then Richie realized that weather wasn't so cold as it supposed to be.

And if today really was fucking 1st September that could mean only one thing.

"I'm Marty fucking McFly," he said loudly, not caring if anyone hear him, too amazed at a prospect of traveling back in time. Then more like afterthought added, "I'm gonna kill that motherfucking clown in your name, you Great Turtle."

-

"Hiya, Mike, buddy." Richie smiled widely, maybe showing a little too much teeth, because Mike took step back in the library when he saw him.

"Richie?" Mike's voice shook, his body language stiff and distrustful.

"Yeah, it's me, good to see you again. And no I'm not a Pennywise don't worry. Just came to visit Eddie's mum, y' know and then thought why not to drop at yours for a while," babbled Richie at the furiously speed, coming inside a building and closing door behind.

"How do you remember?"

The broken tone of that question made Richie's heart hurt.

He took a deep breath.

"We have to talk Mike."

-

"Since you, time traveled is there a possibility of being there, well, other you?" asked Mike carefully.

Richie's eyes opened wide at the suggestion, absolutely shocked.

He honestly didn't even though about it.

Time travel alone was baffling enough.

Beside what would world even do with two Richies? One was bloody mess of repression and emotional instability enough. Two was just asking for a disaster to happen.

"I have no fucking idea."

For a moment there's was a thoughtful silence between them.

"Maybe just call like you were supposed to? I don't have my phone on me, so maybe really the alternate version of me have it," said Richie and with each word he felt as his rational thinking died.

It was kinda hilarious, so when Richie started to crack, loud barking laugh escaping his mouth, Mike joined him.

Here they were, two 40 years old men, giggling like a fucking schoolgirls.

And Richie knew that for moments like this he came back.

-

In the end nobody in LA answered their calls, every one of them going straight to the voicemail. Richie still wasn't sure if that meant that there wasn't another version of him, but along with Mike they decided to leave that for later.

"Soo... Magical turtle, huh?" said Mike after Richie came out of the shower, his hair still wet.

Richie left Mike alone for a while, letting him to think all that situation through. It was a lot to take in and even though Mike settled on believing him, the questioning things wasn't irrational since the situation itself was quite unusual.

"Beats me, man. I have literally no fucking idea how it works. I just woke up here after dreaming the God Turtle up, so I assume that he's behind all of this."

Richie shrugged. He wasn't going to think more about it right now. His main priority was killing the clown and not allowing anyone die in the process.

If he success and lives through it then he'll spend the rest of his life trying to repay the Turtle for the whole time travel business. Maybe he'll set up some nice turtle colony or shit like that.

"Okay, okay. So like what's the plan, Richie?" asked Mike, suddenly standing up.

He started to pace in the small space of his home over the library. Mike radiated excited and nervous energy.

He finally ended by the kitchenette and grabbed two glasses and a bottle of some alcohol.

He poured a scotch (cheap one, noticed Richie) for both of them and Richie found that tearing the eyes away from the brownish liquid was almost impossible task.

He took the drink as quick as he could and drowned it in one gulp. He couldn't help a grimace showing on his face since, yeah, whisky definitely wasn't his favorites.

"What are we going to do with... Fair, you told me? And the tokens! Do you think the rest still should find their tokens?"

Mike seemed to winding up on arranging battle plan right here right now.

Richie smiled weakly at his enthusiasm and poured himself another glass.

-

Living with Mike was kinda bizarre experience. They spend past four days almost entirely with each other.

Mike, Richie noticed, was starved for spending time with another human being. He was alone long enough it seemed.

But sometimes, at mornings mostly, when sleep yet blurred their vision, Mike seemed to forgot the fact that, he had now a roommate. He startled every time without a fault, seeing Richie in his living space, at dawns (because, yeah, Mike had a habit to wake up so fucking early, that it for sure wasn't normal).

Mike also lived in some kind of schemat. He had a routine. Like an _old man_. Richie maybe would found it funny if it wasn't so damn sad.

But Mike's hermit ways had it's good sides. They had massive amounts of time to discuss their plans. And since Mike wasn't really social butterfly and kinda forgot how to people in the long run, he didn't noticed that Richie was a wreck. But even he noticed that something was off.

"Richie? Are you alright?" Mike asked one evening, while they tried to choose the wisest approach to the fair incident.

"Yeah? Why wouldn't I be?" asked Richie, tensing.

"Well, you're just, you're less then..."

Mike wanted to tell Richie that he shouldn't radiate that choking sorrowful air, his expression shouldn't be so sad all the time, his jokes shouldn't lack that special edge that made everyone smile even if joke wasn't even funny. Richie worried Mike.

But maybe Richie just changed. It was 27 years after all. And Richie lived through fighting with IT in that alternate timeline in which some of the Losers died (Richie didn't tell him who exactly, saying that it won't happen this time).

"You just seem sad," finished Mike lamely, feeling kind of disappointed in himself.

"Don't worry, I just miss tender touches of Mrs. K, y' know? Now that we're planning all that assassination of murderous clown I have no time to visit and fuck her like she deserves." Richie wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Mike cracked an unconvinced smile, but didn't press.

They had more important things to do right now.

-

Don couldn't believe that nice visit in his hometown with his beloved boyfriend ended with them getting pummeled into ground.

Adrian never had exhibited excess self-preservation. He thought that the rules from big city like NY applied also to the shithole like Derry where most of the people were still stuck in the Dark Ages.

Don couldn't really blame him for just being himself, right? And that comment about wig was totally spot-on.

But honestly they didn't expected that a few little agonistic comments was enough for earning them a fucking trashing of their lives.

It was painful to took a hits, but even more so looking at the love of your life getting beaten.

Don could see through tears, that started to form in his eyes, the lying on the ground figure of his boyfriend, struggling to breath.

He screamed to their assailants, begged them to let Adrian go, but it was futile.

He knew it won't end well for them. He could feel the coldness settling deep inside his bones with every hit and every drop of blood.

But suddenly everything seemed to stop. The guy holding Don down loosed his grip on him and fell back.

"Eat dirt, motherfucker," somebody shrieked.

Don quickly accessed situation that played before him.

There was two new men that jumped in. Both were older, in their forties maybe.

The guy who jumped in with that unexpected battle cry just knocked flat one of the aggressors. Moment later he gasped loudly and doubled over, when one of the homophobic dicks punched him square in the face.

The rest of the fight passed in a blur for Don. Somebody managed to knock him over and his head hit the ground with unsettling crack.

When he opened his eyes the black man was helping him to sit on the ground.

His eyes hurriedly located Adrian.

His boyfriend was held by the other of their saviors. It looked like Adrian still struggled to breath, so Don's first instinct was to look for the inhaler that was somewhere on the ground.

But the nausea and throbbing headache didn't allow him to do that.

He glanced desperately but man helping Adrian suddenly had everything under control.

He was saying something to Adrian and hand him an inhaler.

Don slumped with relief.

He sat for a few moments, just breathing.

When he felt a little more confident that he won't pass out he stood up with help of one of their hero.

"Thanks a lot," he croaked.

"No problemo, mi amigos. Saving hot guys in my free times is the reason I put on the cape every night," laughed man standing beside Adrian.

Don eyed closely their saviors.

Both guys that helped them was somewhat familiar to Don. The black guy, Don's pretty sure, was a local. He saw him couple times in a town.

The other man was harder to place. He had recognizable face, but Don still had no idea from where he could know that dude.

"By the way I'm Richie and that's my sidekick Mike."

"Wait, I know you," said Adrian with exhilaration. "You're Trashmouth! Richie Tozier, from Netflix, right?"

And now that Adrian pointed it out, Don saw that the guy totally looked like the comedian.

"Yeah, that's me. Human disaster in the flesh," chuckled Richie winking at Adrian.

"Well, you're hotter in person," said Adrian.

Don mentally cursed his boyfriend, because one fight a day was definitely enough, and who the fuck know how the guy from "fuck your girlfriend" jokes would react to outright flirting from the gay man.

"Well, you and your sweetheart aren't so bad yourself," responded Richie.

Mike, who stood next to Don looked surprised at that exchange.

"Richie, we should go already."

"Yeah, yeah. See you around Don, Adrian. And if you see any clown I suggest you run other way!"

Don blinked at that unusual advice and smiled wrapping his arm around Adrian.

Maybe Derry wasn't so bad after all.

-

Mike wanted to tell something. Something like "I love you, no matter who you love", or "it's okay if you like them", or "I'm here for you".

But the point was that Richie didn't even noticed that he was flirting with these guys. Full of adrenaline, feeling the rush of saving somebody Richie_ just didn't noticed_.

And Mike wasn't sure if it was his place to point something like that out.

"After IT's death," he thought to himself. "After that I'll talk to Richie."

-

Richie's nervous.

He arrived in Atlanta, Georgia two hours ago and now he stood in front of Stan's address.

It was nice house, in nice area. Quiet and welcoming home painted in boring beige colour.

It suited Stan, though Richie.

He's here, already for some time, just looking. He couldn't force himself to knock.

Richie hadn't seen Stan for 27 years and some. He wasn't even sure how Stan look like.

In his original timeline Losers never really reunited with Stan, since that little shit decided to off himself. And after killing IT everyone just wanted to piece together their lives and Stan...

_Stan was dead._

They didn't go to funeral, because they were in Derry then. They didn't visit his grave (or at least Richie didn't). They also never meet Stan's wife.

So Richie stood here in front of Stan's home and prayed for a courage, because _this shit_, it was harder then he thought it would be.

Stan was alive and once upon a time he was Richie's best friend.

Richie took a shaky breath (_"everything will be alright, you have Turtle-God on your side"_) and knocked on the front door.


	3. Chapter 3

When the door opened with a crack it's like world stopped spinning for a minute.

Richie forgot how to breathe because here, right before him was Stan.

He still had these cute, ridiculous curls. He looked good. Older.

Richie almost could see the younger version of Stan with a little less convincing, polite and neutral, smile that Stanley was sporting now.

Stan always aimed at coming out as a proper member of society (mostly for his parents sake), even though he wasn't exactly into socializing.

He was always a sceptic, their Stan. He looked at people analyzing and putting label on them.

Losers didn't mind his quirks, because all of them were full of their own.

So what if Stan stayed a little farer as long as he still was by their sides?

-

_It was hot outside. The clothes stuck uncomfortable to sweated skin and sun blinded with it's brightness._

_"C'mon, Staniel," groaned Richie, flapping his arms, "Bill and Eddie are probably already waiting for us."_

_Stan send him exasperated look and returned to watering the garden behind his house._

_"You don't have to wait for me. It's going to take a while anyway," he said._

_Richie whined again and disappeared behind the corner._

_When he came back with large watering can in hand Stan seemed to be engrossed in his task. Maybe he thought that Richie really left him alone to hang with rest of their friends._

_Richie with mirth in his eyes decided to spice up a little this boring day._

_He stood behind Stan so close he could probably fell Richie's breath on his neck if he wasn't so into his chore._

_Richie stifling the giggle that threatened to come out of his mouth raised the watering can high over his head and dumped it's content right on Stan's head._

_An unintelligible shriek filled the garden along with loud laughter._

_"Richie?!" Stan's voice full of outrage set Richie into yet another fit of giggles. "You're officially dead to me," he said and maybe it would sound threatening if not for a flush of anger and probably heat that decorated Stan's entire face starting from his ears and disappearing under the collar of his wet shirt._

_Richie bent in half trying to take a breath, his hand rubbing the tears out of his eyes, he didn't noticed the hose directed at him until it was too late._

_The cold water soaked him to the bone, even though his brave attempts to shield himself with the watering can and trying to jump out of the way._

_Stan was merciless._

_"Okay! Okay, you won, you asshole!" yielded Richie._

_"Yeah, I thought so," responded Stan with smirk. _

-

Things came back easier to Richie lately. They wasn't really tied to murderous clown anymore since these memories he reclaimed in his original timeline. Now it was mostly random flashes about his childhood, his adventures with Losers or just these small moments that seemed to be meaningless in the long run. But each of these memories was priceless to Richie.

This one, it wasn't important memory. It wasn't something that changed Richie's life in any significant way. But it was pleasant and warm memory. One that made him think that his childhood wasn't exactly the worst one, that it didn't consist exclusive the clusterfuck of every possible nightmare you could imagine.

Only when Stan opened his mouth to say something Richie came back to the present.

"Can I help you with something?" Stan tone was pleasant and he had such a calming voice, that it made wave of warmth and content spread through Richie insides.

"Richie. Richie 'Trashmouth' Tozier from Derry."

Richie wanted to add something amusing, crack some absurd joke or just tell anything more but his tongue was heavy in his mouth. For a moment he feared he might choke on it.

Stan's eyes opened wide. His left arm jerked uncontrollable and Richie knew that it was because of sudden pain in old scar on his palm.

-

Stan's hugs were always the best.

He never was physical kind of guy or people guy really. So his hugs were rare, like Richie could count them on fingers of his two hands, rare. But they never failed making Richie feel better.

"I missed you," said Richie, his voice coming out chocked. "Thought I'll never see you again."

Stan's arms tightened around him, almost crushing him, but Richie didn't felt so safe in a long time.

-

"We have to go back to Derry."

Even in Richie's own ears it sounded like a death sentence (but _it wasn't_, he'll make sure of it).

"I'm not sure I can do this," said Stan, his voice breaking. He diverted his eyes from Richie looking everywhere else instead.

Richie gulped, his eyes suddenly moist as he remembered shaky voice -

_"Please, don't be mad, Bill. I was just scared."_

Stan's afraid too and Richie took his face in his hands.

"Stanley, Stan the Man, look at me. You're a Loser. And you always fucking will be."

Richie used the same words that filled him with strength to overcome his own fears, that made him stay in Derry and let him help defeating IT in his original timeline. He hoped it's enough to at least somehow console his friend.

And Stan looked him in the eyes, briefly and unsure, something like a recognition flashing through his face and he smiled weakly and hesitant.

It's a _smile_.

Richie counted that as win.

"I know it's hard. Like probably the hardest thing in your life, but... It's important. We need you in Derry."

"We? Did your ego finally took a physical form?"

"We as the Losers, you asshole," snorted Richie, squeezing Stan's bicep in reassurance.

"Anyway I have ah... A surprise for you?" said Richie hesitantly.

Stan's eyes narrowed immediately knowing deep down that this didn't meant anything good. Besides it was truly measly distraction from the whole Derry thing.

"Before you say anything don't let it ruffle your feathers," said Richie and opened the truck of his rented car. Inside were two plain looking birds inside a blue cage.

"It's you know, tweet for you," he joked weakly.

"Seriously, we don't see each other in 27 years and you give me pet birds as a gift? Where did you even got that idea?"  
Richie only shrugged unapologetic, because Stan didn't even sound mad, more like flabbergasted and a tiny bit amused maybe. Or well, Richie hoped so.

Stan took a step closer to the cage staring at his new pets.

Both birds were brownish with white bellies and the area around the beck. (They didn't look special or spectacular, but Richie thought they fit Stanley perfectly.)

Richie's not sure himself why he'd bought these birds.

He drove past the pet store and felt the urge to stop by. He had to rest a bit and stretch his legs anyway, not to mention the fact that his back's been killing him from sitting too long in one position (and no, he wasn't fucking old, just tired).

And somehow he ended with huge cage with two small birds inside.

Fate worked in mysterious ways and all that shit.

"So the hot lady who sold me these precious little buggers said they're flinches? Or something like that. Not really loud if you don't stress them out."

"It's finches. Owl finches, known also as double-barred finches," corrected Stan not averting his gaze from the pets. He sounded little off and Richie figured out he probably had a flashback from their childhood.

"How can I take care of them if I'm going with you to Derry?" Stan asked suddenly. "I can't..."

"Actually I have no fucking idea what you should do with them," admitted Richie. "Like, I totally bought them on a whim, so..."

In the end Stan decided to left the birds with his wife.

Richie sat in the car while Stan talked to Patricia about sudden trip to his hometown and explained why it was critical to leave as soon as possible.

Richie didn't know what bullshit exactly Stan feed his wife, but he could bet that for sure he didn't tell her the truth. Explaining the child-eating monster and the other things wouldn't take less then a hour after all.

When Stan finally emerged from his apartment with suitcase in his hand he looked tired but determined.

And then their drive to Derry began.

-

"Well fuck you and your grandpa's hobbies. Like, who the hell prefers watching birds or, or playing puzzles then do literally anything fucking else."

And Stan's a little put off with the fact that this man knew him so well. Yeah, he remembered some things, more like flashes really and was vaguely aware that Richie was his friend and important part of his life, but he couldn't understand in what exactly way.

The drive to Derry was long and exhausting.

Richie babbled through most of this, but Stan had this weird feeling that there was something wrong with him.

His constant talk lacked something significant, but Stan couldn't really put his finger on what, probably due to his faded memories. In fact he focused so hard on trying to figure Richie out that he nearly forgot the reason they actually met again (but somewhere in the back of his mind the darkness lingered, almost paralyzing him).

Richie looked bad overall. Not in ugly type of way. But despite his burly built he was suspiciously thin. His face was sunken with incisive looking cheek bones as if there wasn't enough fat tissue in his body to round it enough. There were dark circles under his red rimmed and puffy eyes that pointed to severe lack of sleep.

But not only Richie's looks concerned Stan.

When they stopped at some shabby restaurant Stan noticed - after he stopped complaining at sordid condition of that place - that Richie barley ate any of his fries (and who ordered medium fries after nearly 12 hours of constant driving and yeah the perspective of fighting the monster wasn't really hunger inducing, but body needed nutrition) and there was a moment that Stan could swore that when elderly waitress asked what they want to drink Richie hesitated his eyes lingering a while too long at alcohol section of the menu.

Stan had an uncomfortable realization that Richie tried to distract him from his eating habits with over enthusiastic gesticulation and more then usual crude jokes.

Stan decided not to comment on anything at the moment, but bought a few packs of chips and other snacks that he had no fondness for, hoping that maybe Richie would eat at least some of them during the rest of trip (it didn't worked and Stan could felt the unease sinking in the depth of his stomach).

-

Point was that Stan always had been a little fragile. He was a loner type choosing not to lean too much on other people. But he _never_ was weak.

Maybe that's why Richie couldn't really believe that Stan killed himself (he could however believe that Stan got cold feet just fine).

Especially since Stan found his peace. He had wife, lived in nice home, had a stable job.

So no, Richie couldn't see how Stan thought that his only option was suicide. Richie couldn't stomach that fucking letter, that _was_ in fact a suicide note, no matter if Stan wrote it wasn't.

Stan wasn't the weakest link in Losers Club. He just chose to be.

Now sitting not even meter next to him Richie's been tempted to ask why, beg for explanation, but, biting his lips so hard they bleed, he reminded himself that it didn't even happened (and _never_ will).

It kinda felt like dying not being able to talk about it.

-

The last few kilometers before Derry's border was tense.

Suddenly the small space of rental car was too claustrophobic, the air become so tense you could cut it with knife.

Stan and Richie both were quiet, fearing to disturb the pregnant silence (what if they open their mouth and will hear the crazed laughter of clown, hear the popping of the red balloons, hear the dying prayers of dead children. It was better to stay still and noiseless, better not to tempt the fate).

And yet when Stanley looked at Richie he felt that maybe it'll turn out well and they won't die tomorrow.

And when Richie looked at Stan he promised himself that he won't waste the chance given him by the Turtle and will save them all.

Fuck it, Pennywise the Dancing Clown will be dead by the end of the week.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I wanted to explain the birds thing. It was meant to be symbolic, 'cause birds are the creatures of freedom. And it was kinda like Richie, saving Stan, not letting him commit suicide he let him free of his destiny.  
That's all. Enjoy.


	4. Chapter 4

Meeting with Stan was _officially_ piece of cake, decided Richie.

He and Stan were parked in the lot before the Jade Of The Orient.

They arrived a few minutes ago and there was left over half an hour to the meeting yet.

The reason behind the car drive instead of choosing a plane was kinda paranoid decision on Richie's side. He just felt safer knowing that Stan spent time sitting with him in the car, and not in his own room in hotel in Derry. Maybe Richie shouldn't have but he was wary of Stan and bathrooms (fuck it, he _definitely_ should have).

And well, the restrooms by 7/11 hardly counted since Stan being Stan barely could go into one moreover let himself touch anything in there. So Richie was like 99% sure that while on road Stan won't try anything stupid (and it was nice to be right sometimes).

Beside it wasn't as if they had half a country to drive, so they arrived on time with no problems.

Now they sat in silence, each of them lost in their thoughts.

Richie looked at Stan, nervously. Stan was staring blankly at the view from the window (that contained mostly bushes and few ugly buildings in the distance).

Richie rubbed his disgustingly sweaty palms on his denim jeans.

He wasn't good at this kind of stressful situations. He had anxiety and usually he dealt with that by somehow bullshiting his way out and turning everything into a joke.

But now he was pretty sure it won't be so easy.

He told Mike earlier that he didn't want to include the others in his time travel gig. At least not tonight. _Maybe never._

He needed something to calm his nerves. Like a drink. Yeah, a drink sounded good.

He felt torn. He didn't want to see Losers, but at the same time everything in him was screaming for them. He yearned for any kind of closure. Yet he found himself drowning in guilt and want, and longing, and fear, and all these feelings together slowly suffocated him.

Richie blamed Losers for his own wrongdoing simply because it was easier. He blamed them for_ Eddie's death_. And Richie hated himself for that in that 'can't even look in the mirror' kind of way.

Richie was never good with emotions and moments like that, when he felt so much, too much, in such strong way made him feel weak and not man enough for not being able to deal with that.

But at that certain moment he was mostly tired. He wanted everything to end already. He wanted Pennywise dead forever and Eddie and Stan and the rest of the Losers safe and sound.

He wanted to...

He wanted them to be happy even though he wasn't sure how exactly he could make himself happy.

And Eddie. _Oh, God, Eddie._

Richie closed his eyes as tightly as he could until he saw the stars shining brightly under his eyelids.

He glanced again at Stan.

This time Richie's stare was meet with annoyed scowl.

"Stop staring at me," said Stan.

He was pale, his lips pressed into thin line. But something in his gaze was burning.

Richie really wanted to feel half as ready for what was coming.

-

He welcomed everyone with wide smile, that hurt his cheeks. He quickly greeted Ben and Beverly, then stood beside Mike, leaving Stan to socialize. They were waiting for Eddie and Bill yet.

"How's Derry?" Richie asked quietly, his eyes following Bev's movements towards appetizers. She grabbed one and nibbled on it while nodding encouragingly at Ben, who was talking to her about something.

"Lisa Albrecht and her parents are still out of town, after our talk, so I'm guessing she's ok. Beside that, I reached out to some of my old friends and found out that Bowers escaped from Juniper," Mike said, his eyebrows furrowed, but except that his expression was carefully bland.

Richie was impressed by Mike's poker face, because he wouldn't guess that's anything wrong, if he wasn't active participant of that discussion.

"There's nothing we can do with him now," sighed Richie. "And the clown? Have you seen him?"

Mike shook his head and left him alone for a few minutes to discuss their orders with the waitress.

In the meantime Richie grabbed a drink and put one of his arm around Ben's neck and the other around Bev's, squeezing them in warm embrace and interrupting their sad attempts of not-flirting with a funny story about his collage experience (he never finished it).

It was surprisingly simple to fall into the conversation. Welcoming, light patting on the shoulders and casual bickering wasn't as graceful as they could but taking under consideration that they haven't seen each other in 27 years, it was just about perfect.

When Bill and Eddie finally arrived and they all sat down to the table, Richie marveled at the sight of Losers together. All of them.

There was the tiny moment, when Richie considered bolting just after Eddie's warm hand touched his in the greeting, but he shoved the panicky feeling deep down and instead of running away, he just backed off a little, letting Eddie to mingle with the rest of the Losers.

But in the end Richie found himself relaxing into warm presence of his friends. He admittedly tried to avoid looking at Eddie and mostly focused at Stan and Mike. The few shots he had definitely didn't harm with his ability to deal with the situation.

On the first reunion, where words came out flowing, without any hardship, when uncomfortable memories were still carefully hidden, Richie was definitely more smooth with his chatter, but now it wasn't as bad as he judged it would be.

Sure at times Richie got overwhelmed and had to force down the tears that threatened to spill like small waterfalls on his face, because all this ordeal was fucking painful.

He covered his face then by taking a glass of whiskey to his lips, when the emotions were just too much and they started to choke him. He took the sip of his glass so the burn of _guiltangerfear_ could be replaced with the burn of alcohol.

It helped.

They were connected all of them, tied tightly with the strings of fate, not only by shared experiences, but also by something stronger, unbreakable bonds.

The sight of his friends now was like a salve on fresh burn, incredible soothing. It brought that memories when they were untouchable and world was still good and beautiful place.

Richie remembered being 6 years old brat, with the gaping hole, where his front tooth supposed to be, grinning like a mad man at Bill, who excitedly informed them about his new brother.

"H-his n-n-name is Geo-Georgie and I-I'm go-gonna be the b-b-best big br-brother e-ever," Bill informed them with stubborn expression and honestly none of them doubted the words he just said. And even if Georgie was Bill's primarily, he was also theirs by proxy.

It was simpler time, when small things were life changing.

Richie wasn't that kid anymore. But the meeting with his friends now and in his original timeline, seemingly tiny cog in the whole huge machinery of events, it was truly breath taking matter.

It was their starting line, though not the proper one, established at the beginning, but in the middle.

But it was going to work out for them and Richie was here to take care of it.

-

"Wait. So Eddie, you got married?"

"What's so funny dickwad?"

"What, to like a woman?" The words burned as much as the first time he said them, if not stronger, but he couldn't control himself, they came out almost involuntary.

The look on Eddie's face was the picture of righteous indignation.

His forehead wrinkled and Richie thought it was _incredibly_ cute. He berated himself for that and looked down on the sticky table with shame.

He raised his head only when the question about his own civil status popped.

He opened his mouth to say something lightly indicating on his homosexuality, because maybe it was about time, but the only thing that came out was the stupid mom joke.

He laughed along his friends at Eddie's outrage, but inside he felt the bitter self-resentment.

He _still_ was a coward. Even fucking _time travel_ didn't change that.

-

"My fortune cookie says '_home_'," exclaimed Eddie, frowning heavily over piece of paper.

Richie spaced out for a little, the weariness settling deep inside his bones, since he couldn't really recall the last time he cached the reliving full night sleep. But Eddie's words made him sit up straight, the lethargy disappearing in the blink of an eye.

Richie quickly stood up.

"I think that's the time to go," he said, grabbing his things in hurry.

He poked Stan who sat at his right to rush him up and threw the meaningful look at Mike.

"Yeah, we should definitely pack up," agreed Mike.

The rest of the Losers were visibly confused, but went along with no protests, especially when the bowl with fortune cookies started to shake.

-

_"The fun's just beginning."_

The word sill send the cold shiver down Richie's spine even though he expected them.

"You're a fan, kiddo?" Richie smiled lopsidedly, his hands curled up in fists tucked behind his back.

He wasn't good with children. He didn't know any, he didn't interact with them. He had no idea what kids these days was into.

"Yeah, you're pretty funny. I mean you're obviously not as good as John Mulaney, but still."

Richie snorted amused at the kid's ballsy words. He relaxed a little, his smile becoming a little more honest.

"Please, Johnny-boy has no game comparing to me."

The kid looked a little doubtful, but in the end didn't really argued on that. He just pulled out the visibly worn-out notebook and handed it over to Richie.

"Can I have an autograph?"

"Let me think about it," said Richie, shaking his head. "You just admitted I'm not your favorite comedian, you sure you want it?"

The kid looked irritated and pressed the notebook to his chest.

Richie ruffled the kid's hair, deciding to cut off the teasing.

"How about a picture instead?"

-

The parking lot was poorly lit with few lamps, but there wasn't any suspicious shapes creeping in.

Richie rubbed his hands together, to warm his hands a little.

"You're pretty good with kids," said Bev with tender smile.

In the artificial light the bruises on her neck were just shadows, if you didn't know what were you looking at. Richie _knew_.

"I'm pretty awful," replied Richie, stretching stiff limbs.

They stood a few seconds in the silence of the night, pondering on what'll be next.

"So how about you'll head to hotel," proposed Richie, trying to sound casual. "I'll drive Mikey-man home, 'cause he said he have some super secret important info he have to grab and we'll be back in jiffy."

Bill send him weird look, that Richie couldn't quite decipher.

"L-let's go."

The leader has spoken.

-

"Victoria Fuller, last seen at the baseball match between Derry-"

"Yes, Mike, I'm aware, since I was the one who told you."

Richie rolled his eyes in annoyance. His hands shook a bit curled around the driving wheel.

"Are you sure you're alright, Richie?" Mike asked, his voice careful, like he didn't want to exactly piss him off, but he still hoped for some significant feedback.

Richie sighed and patted Mike's knee, his eyes still firmly focused on the road. They didn't need a car crash.

"Just seeing all of you again, it's crazy," said Richie lightly. "Good to know that it's not some fucked up alternate universe, where I'm not the hottest one of us."

Mike didn't say anything at that.

Richie was glad he had an excuse to not look at his friend, but he could feel Mike's burning gaze on him.

The silence was tense, but still Richie preferred that then some teary chick flick moment of talking about feeling. Yuck.

-

"You got weapons, right?" Richie's nervousness definitely seeped into his voice, making it kinda shaky.

"Yes, there you go."

Mike handed him a small, shiny pocket knife. Richie looked at him with open incredulity.

"Dude, it's fucking tiny! I think the only damage I could do with it is making IT die of laughter."

"It would be job done, then," said Mike with a pale smile.

He had a large hunting knife sheathed by his belt.

"Well, technically..."

"And we shouldn't draw attention to us."

Richie grumpily agreed and they went to the stadion.

It was filled with people, cheering on their favorite team, unaware that Derry's monster was on the loose.

Richie looked over, trying to spot some quieter place, somewhere, where Pennywise could lurk in the darkness.

Parking lot from where they came was already checked and they could proudly say it was clown-free.

Mike nudged Richie and pointed on the back of the bleachers. They went over, slowly moving towards the shady part of it.

"- have to get close enough to see my face."

Richie froze hearing the voice that haunted his dreams. He saw the little, blonde girl standing in the shadows, facing the demon wearing clown-like face.

"I don't know, Vicky."

"It's ok. I won't make fun, I promise."

"Promise, promise?"

The clown and the girl still talked, but Richie zoned out.

IT was smiling, the buck teeth, instead of millions pointy, needle-sharp ones. IT's voice wasn't threatening yet, but it still made Richie scared shitless.

The jab at his chest woke him from his stupor.

Richie and Mike exchanged looks and jumped into action.

Mike snatched the kid, pressing her tightly to his chest and moving away from IT, whose jaws just unhinged to take a bite, showing the world it's more ugly, twisted face.

The girl shrieked and opened her eyes (_and when did she close them_) and her expression twisted into look of pure horror.

Pennywise closed his mouth at thin air and gave out loud, unhappy growl that shook Richie to the core.

Clowny face stretched out into horrifying smile when the creature saw who disrupted his meal.

"Richie, Mike, came to play a little with the old Pennywise?" IT chuckled.

Monster emerged into light, showing himself in all of his clowny glory.

"You just couldn't stay away, didn't you?"

IT moved closer with a bounce, still smiling, still _so damn smug_.

"Ready to float?"

Richie took a swipe at Pennywise with the knife.

IT grumbled when the blade sunk in his cheek, taking a small step back. 

"Richie, run!" Mike shouted.

He was a few feet away and Richie had no idea when he managed to get so far. Mike also had no kid with him anymore.

Richie throw the last glance at IT and ran to Mike, with his heart beating loudly in his ears.

-

The ride to Derry Town House was quick one.

Mike told Richie that he successfully dropped the kid back into the crowd of cheering baseball fans and warned her about IT, what was kinda pointless since the girl looked terror-stricken on her own.

The meeting with IT shaken both Richie and Mike, more then they would like to admit. They went out tonight expecting the encounter with Pennywise will happen, but they weren't ready.

They were lucky that IT let them go and Richie knew for sure that Pennywise was just plying with them for now, pulling the punches and waiting for the right moment to strike with all IT's strength. 

Richie, who already managed to kill IT for good once, was still affected and it infuriated him to no ends. He was supposed to be braver, stronger. And while eye to eye with clown he just _froze_.

It was stupid and irrational. Richie knew that IT was just a sloppy little bitch that crumbled at tiny signs of verbal abuse and still Richie was unable to do anything.

The first thing Richie did after coming into hotel was walk over the liquor cabinet and poured himself a bourbon.

"You're back," said Bev from the couch.

Hand in which Richie held the glass twitched uncontrollable, spilling it's content on the floor and his shirt.

"Fuck," swore Richie, putting back the glass on the counter.

He looked over the space occupied by Losers. Everyone was seated in front of fireplace looking unruffled and in peace. Well, more or less since there was threat of intimate rendezvous with Pennywise looming over them in the nearest future. _But still they hadn't meet IT _yet_._

Richie ran his hand through his hair and discouraged sat down on the unoccupied armchair.

Mike started to talk, going on about their duty to kill IT. Richie already could tell it was going to be a shitshow (lived _through_ it even, although he admitted that the last time _he_ kinda was the one that winded up the case against fighting IT and leaving the town).

Richie listened half-heartedly. He heard it all anyway and helped to come up with plan.

When the discussion took on a little more heated course, Richie stood up to take a bathroom break. But before he could even take a step out of the room Bill approached him.

"W-What do yo-you think, R-Richie?"

Richie grimaced, definitely bummed that everyone focused on him.

"Well, I think, my dear Billiam, that we should finish what we started, yada yada," he replied.

He wasn't in the mood for talking.

"The fuck!"

Eddie's angry face appeared before him.

"What kind of answer is that, you asshole?"

Eddie started to drone about something his face redder with every word. Richie stared at him, his vision slightly wavering and blurring gradually.

-

_ Suddenly Richie was in the cave, blood spilling between his fingers as he tried to stop the hole in Eddie's chest from bleeding. _

_He was cold and shivering._

_Eddie's eyes heavy on Richie, when Pennywise's voice reaches his ears -_

_"Don't touch the other boys, or they'll know..."_

-

As abruptly as the flashback began it ended when Richie felt sharp pain in his cheek.

He gasped surprised and opened his eyes.

"Ow! For the everloving fuck! Why did you do that?!"

Richie glared at Stan, who stood before him, his hand still raised in the air.

"You were freaking out, Richie, "said Stan slowly. His expression was hard and unamused.

"Yeah, y-you froze a-and... "

"You had a panic attack," added Eddie bluntly.

Richie with all his might resisted to look at him, sure that it would just end with another emotional break.

"Really?"

He tried to make it sound carefree, but he failed judging from worried frowns on faces around him.

"Are you alright?" asked Bev quietly, taking step toward Richie and trying to wrap her hands around him. But her arms fallen loose at her sides when Richie flinched in like full body jerk kinda way. She _barely_ touched him.

"Richie, what's going on?"

"Nothing, nothing is fucking wrong," Richie said suddenly irrationally angry. Everybody asked him if he was alright and couldn't they finally see he was A-ok, top of his fucking form?

Richie rubbed his forehead and grimaced with disgust at how wet with sweat his palm was.

Jesus fuck.

"Don't get your panties in a twist, guys. Dealing with this fucking clown wasn't exactly my weekend vacation plan. Neither was yours I imagine. So let's just go to sleep and pretend we're not going to fight the clown who fucked all of us up for life."

It came a little harsh and lacked his unique sense of humor that usually lighten the mood, but honestly Richie was too exhausted to make an effort to not come off as total asshole.

Mike threw him concerned glance over Bill's shoulder. Richie scowled at him felling ever more pissed.

Mike from all of people should understand from where Richie's emotions came. Even if Richie himself wasn't sure. Mike _was supposed to_ be on _his_ side.

And not fucking pitying him.

"Beep beep, Richie," said Stanley, his eyes narrow and piercing, analyzing.

Richie didn't like this look. He wasn't some fucking puzzling pet project to be solved.

"You know what? Fuck you all. I'm gonna get a drink. We'll meet tomorrow or something."

He flipped them a bird and sharply elbowed Ben who tried to stop him from leaving.

It went _well_.

-

Richie dragged one feet after the other, passing by the familiar if mostly renowned buildings.

His urge to smash something or someone disappeared some time ago

He fucked up. He was the master of fine art that was destroying his life and in his wake making everyone around him miserable.

He came back in time to become a better person, he was supposed to be better person. He had that great plan to save Losers, while directing them on the right path and now he was throwing a fit like some pussy.

He hated himself.

In his original timeline nothing happened on the first night they arrived to Derry, but now there was too many unknown variables. Stan was alive. Three other victims of IT were alive.

And Richie was supposed to look after Stan. He should have taken care of his friend, looked out for any signs of unwanted thoughts. He was supposed to be a fucking _guard dog of the bathrooms_, for Turtle's sake.

And what Richie was doing?

Trailed around the Derry like a lost puppy.

Not that he didn't appreciate the second chance and all, but some pointers would be nice. It wouldn't have to be the big ones, like '_yeah, dude, your best shot will be at 19.54 on Friday, hit Pennywise with the best obscenity you can make up and the guy will be toast_'. Richie expected something more along the lines of '_you totally didn't fucked everything up yet_'. But there weren't any signs on earth or sky that could indicate The Turtle-God left him any voice message or letter.

So Richie found himself hitting a wall.

He knew his main goal was killing Pennywise and saving Losers, but everything between, the finer details were lost to him.

He shuddered and picked up the pace.

He wondered briefly if he should go to check on Mike, but quickly brush aside that thought. Mike was capable to enough to take care of himself and Richie overstayed his welcome anyway.

He had to go back to the hotel.

_Now_.

-

The hotel was as unwelcoming and creepy as usual. At least in Richie's opinion.

The door creaked ominously when he swung them wide open. It was dark inside and Richie felt the dread immediately rising high in the back of his throat.

He swallowed the saliva that pooled inside his mouth and blindly tried to locate the light switch on the wall.

Was he too late? Were his friends already dead?

When he finally managed to turn on the lights, he was breathing fast and the panicky feeling spread through his body like a wildfire.

The hall was empty, no signs of living being around.

He leaned on the wall and attempted to compose himself.

He wasn't that long on his walk, was he? Where was everyone?

He stumbled to the counter and propped himself on it, his arms trashing uncontrollable. He hit something in the process, some stuff falling to the ground with deafening bang.

He jumped at the noise, startled.

He eyed the things on the floor suspiciously.

There were a hotel bell, array of pens that spilled form the metal cup, set of keys to one of the room and a piece of paper.

Richie tried to squat to pick it up but lost the balance and landed painfully at his ass.

He hissed and defeated sprawled out on the ugly carpet and almost dislocated his shoulder trying to reach the fallen items.

He was pathetic, Richie decided sullenly.

He grabbed the keys and note ignoring the rest of the mess.

It was a short note that informed him that Mike was going to drop at morning and pick them up.

Richie knew it was to restore the memories of other Losers. Mike probably planed the whole 'visiting important to your heart places' walk, that started in the Clubhouse, just like the first time. Richie agreed with him that going blindly at Pennywise without actual idea at what they'll be dealing with was pure stupidity.

So tomorrow waited at him the trip down memory lane. Again. Just lovely.

At the bottom of the note was Bill's name and carelessly scribbled number. Richie even if he wanted wouldn't be able to tell the difference between eights and threes._ Mr. Big Author, ladies and gents._

Richie closed his eyes and let his head fall on the ground with loud thump.

_Losers were safe_, he told himself.

He laid on the floor for a while, the note crumbled in his fist.

The ticking of the old clock hanging high on the wall echoed in his head, blurring with the sound of beat of his heart.

"Everything will be alright," he said loudly, trying to convince himself it was truth.

It was hard to believe it while he was falling apart.

He got up, feeling a lot more sound on his feet then before.

Knowing Mike's habits 'morning' meant before the dawn, so Richie actually didn't have a lot time to rest, prior to the outing.

But before going to bed and catching a few hours of well-needed sleep he decided to confirm if his friends were _actually_ safe and sound in their beds.

He was well aware that it was a huge breach of privacy, but he couldn't force himself not to check.

It was like a compulsion, but truth be told he didn't even try to fight it. He _needed_ the confirmation that they were alive.

So he opened the door to Ben's room (it was the closest) and for a few seconds listened to the sound of his breathing.

Soft snoring coming out of the room seemed peaceful and Richie felt himself breathe a sigh of relief and his muscles relaxed, though he didn't even notice how tense he was before.

He repeated the check on with all the other Losers staying currently at the hotel.

He hesitated briefly before entering Eddie's room, but nobody was there to call him out on that.

He was acting like a creep and he was perfectly aware of that, thank you very much.

But he selfishly needed this.

When he finally laid on his bed, lights on, safely tucked under the thin covers he send the quick prayer to the Turtle-God.

A little precaution couldn't hurt after all.

**Author's Note:**

> So it's my first work in English and IT fandom.  
If You see any spelling or grammar mistakes please let me know.
> 
> Enjoy.


End file.
